


Of pocket space, spare change, and finders keepers

by Kasan_Soulblade



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, どうぶつの森 | Animal Crossing Series
Genre: Care, Child Abuse, Cultural Differences, Found Family, Gen, Pre-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, familial emphasis, injuries, odd thought exercise, what if AU set pre new horizons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: The theory of space, time, and pocket dimensions.  Where the edge's of all three distortions collide it ends with an outsider being dropped off among the outre.Now normally it's a balancing act, because guests were always welcomed, if not immediately thrust into positions of authority because that's what they'd done before with their last "visitor".  The results were mixed but life had moved on and Nook'd left that town in the making as quietly and quickly as he could after..This one is too young to be talked into anything much less take on a mayor's duties like they'd done with that last.  And the being's injuries are enough that Nook isn't going to even suggest the idea.  So he takes a different route and finds himself a sudden father of three.If a certain letter finds it way to Nook Inc's headquarters, AKA Tom Nook's house, he's already got a letter of denial set, a "denial" stamp just with a glossy black ink awaiting the press of rubber, and more than enough time and anger to think up the proper punishment for any responsible for this mess from the boy's side of the distortion.A free one way trip to Tarantula Island courtesy of Nook INC leapt to mind.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	1. Emptying of pockets

There were a series of rules about spaces. In an essay, mass, matter, and probability filled out the introductory paragraphs on the testimonials of spaces, the lines of boundaries were its parameter and the later paragraphs down, the environs enclosed within and the effects of that within… Such was the conclusion, once what was held within was compiled and applied the effects of all of the above. Such was pockets, they played by mater’s rules… And when rules didn’t matter, well they made their own sub clauses that were coat tailed when discovered and ohhed and awed over by the more outré branches of intellectuals.

When they weren’t bothering the blazes out of the pedestrian day to day man… ‘coon… entity.

Those oddities ranged from simple things, like having to stretch stupid far to reach the _what was needed right now_ that rolled in the back of a drawer for example, or the slightly surreal event that one was sure, sincerely and truly _sure_ that the place had been cleaned and cleared and when popping a look-see proved it was messier than pre clean and that inanimate clutter had clearly bred.

As for the things that pressed beyond alarming and outré, well those were the things of horror films and as he had younglings to think about he had banned those from his home and shop despite the sign proclaiming “everything sold here”. He really needed to take it down, some of the queries he was getting from his shadier clients were getting a bit hard to deflect.

Though their ears were tiny, the boys heard a lot more than they should have, and they loved to hover close while he worked the till and did the inventory and fielded requests. On one level while he liked the teaching, and even the maths, he was getting a bit weary of thinking of interjections to cut off an inappropriate request and loudly humming over the more irritating regulars that were getting pushy “because didn’t the sign say _everything_. So where was the _undesirable item that the little ones shouldn’t know about_ , they wanted it, and wanted it _right now._ ”

The island get away he was planning, with a side of profit to be built upon once he’d scoped out the parameters, was looking better and better. His thoughts for the last few days had been of simple things, selling off perishables, storing up excess, letting the boy’s do the tally then spending a late night double checking it. That he’d done on the sly, hyping them up and taking them on an outing to get swim wear and linger a bit longer in the park so they’d be double worn. Warm milk and fluffy blankets with a touch of nippy weather had done the rest and if he was sleepy the night after, well he’d made those plans and lived with them.

Nothing to get in a tizzy about, yes?

Still, despite his gentle discouragement, the boy’s… His boys, not biologically that but it was hard not to think of them fondly and thus as their attachment to him was near physical and omnipresent since he’d brought them into his life… Anyways, regardless of his gently discouraging of scary media and the like they’d stumbled upon ideas and made their own to boot. Hence the “thing in the pipes” was not nature and gasses moving about metal pathways just so, but a “ghoolie” that needed tending.

And who else than their awesome “Mr!” Per Tommy, “Unca!” Per Timmy, to solve the problem? 

“Dad!” they’d coursed half past stupid in the morning the last three nights running, screamed really, he’d staggered up the stairs, throwing their door open, flashlight in paw and expecting anything. Mischievous well past the age to be a kit but never grown up Foxes that went by the name of Redd for example, wearing a sheet, to something more sinister, though realistic fears seemed unlikely. A robber perhaps trying the window having missed the “closed and moving to new location” signs posted every place he could get away with it. Crossing Town was absurdly peaceful, which was why he’d settled here with the boys in the first place.

Instead of any of the expected he’d pushed open the door to find them staring at the pipe nearest their bed. Timmy had clambered into Tommy’s bed, and they’d bundled up with the smaller boy’s covers to better glare, quiver, at a bit of metal. The wall was a thing pealed back with the necessities showing, an emergency with said pipes before the noise had started had necessitated the dry wall being pulled back. The exposed lot had spooked them the first night or so but that’d passed. Or so he’d hoped. Them whimpering at a span of metal told a truer tale of “toughing it out” being sought after perhaps but not achieved. And on him tapping the door frame they’d hopped and dared scary span between their soft warm bed to his side, latching their paws on his fur and whimpering.

Well some things sought were not achieved, that was life, and because it was such a minor thing he patted heads, minding ears, and murmured soothing things.

His assurances of “Nothing’s wrong, hmm, I’d know wouldn’t I?” fell on a pair of deaf ears. So it was third time this had happened, and third times were supposedly charmed. He’d been bemused by such, until the pipe had moaned. And it wasn’t air rattling about, or water moving just right, or something coming loose. Nook had had this place for near ten years and he knew all its odds and ends and memorized all its sounds and sensations as a home owner because to do otherwise would be to be neglectful and have problems come up later he could avoid just by listening. 

So he’d listened and that noise they’d all just heard was not a good or normal noise.

Perhaps third time was cursed then, not charmed, the frivolous saying flickered in and out of him mind, its ending unsure.

“Boys, pick up some of your clothes, and blankets, we’re going to Stables.”

  
Well he’d drop them off, _had_ dropped them off, then he’d gone back in, never mind Coper could be called. Stable had called Coper, and the other police and… well it _was_ two in the morning, both he and Booker were likely sleeping in.

Or sleeping it off, though Nook couldn’t prove anything either way.

And it was Tom’s house, and whatever it was had scared _his boys_ , so he’d set them up with Stable, promising to pay her back for use of her couch, then he’d gone back despite her soft spoken protests.

Armed with a flashlight, because it was Crossing Town, and it wasn’t dangerous, rarely was, and hadn’t been for near thirty years…

Which really was just another manifestation of threes, with a side of multiplication and a dab of exponential growth as well, neither boded well since it meant gross increase.

He knew his house’s layout, skimmed over blueprints he’d drafted and built from, tracing pipe paths first from top to bottom, then once assured it went as low as it could scampered down to the basement.

When he found the thing making the noise he hadn’t quite believed… hadn’t wanted to believe…

His “noise problem” was pale, and gangly, and dark topped with something too choppy to be fur and had been meanly chopped at besides. He’d tossed aside things less sullied in the things it wore… the ramshackle of things that might have been clothes if it weren’t for the tape holding the lot together and…

And the reek, the Tanukichi wrinkled his little snout, unable to help himself and certain instincts.

As for other instincts, well his snout curled up and part of him wanted to go to his storage office, withdraw an axe, and go hunting the scent on this broken thing’s skin, the scent strongest about the dark patches and red running spans and the scabbed over spots and…

And the battered entity looked at him, had curled out of a ball and turned to the light all the better to see his soft growl and the being winced back, from _him_ , though they were nearly was as tall as him and by the looks of it due for more growing.

It took effort, to smooth his features, let his lip settle towards smooth and down and his neck fur to unfluff, but he did, because the… entity was inching back. Eyes wide and weary and looking both glazed and not right, like he wasn’t seeing something right.

Glass clattered to the ground and tipping the light down showed something square and shattered and familiar.

Slow, so not to cause the whimpering thing to bolt, he slid forward, the thing had found a wall by then and set it’s back to it. He broke gaze off, once to pick up the battered glasses, then he straightened and crept forward in stages. When he was close, close enough for it to grab him and toss him aside had it wished, he stretched a paw, extending bent and warped, but the offer once sensed was taken up on. 

Glasses passed hands. Green eyes peered at him wearily; one squareish eye spot jagged horridly, and through fractures and dimness Nook could still see the green. It was a pretty hue, like cleanest grass or brightest paint on the cheeriest house.

Though dimness and fractures the creature looked at Nook, blinked, closing one eye to only see through the lens without the spider webbing, then blinked some more.

“I… I think I’m sick…”

No, Nook would have corrected, he thought the thing who’d done this damage to the creature before him was deathly ill, or should be, that and destitute, and he’d be glad to help it along to becoming one or both either way.

Tom was generous like that.

Still, the creature could talk, and the ‘coon perked up, flashing small sharp teeth in a smile that aimed for friendly and not feral.

The creature’s answering wince said he’d likely not done well but...

But it’d talked, funny like, so Nook talked too. Of introduction, and offering water and other small, soft, things said in softest voice, because anything less or more and the creature… human he’d learned, would likely bolt.

Though the human’s name, Harry-Freak, set his hackles to rise and made him itch for access to the creature’s previous caretakers.

Destitution would be too kind, slander of the hardest sort and the resulting social isolation would be a starting point. Sabotage of home and lands, obscene debts accrued, his mind spun out the possibilities while he slid a fetched bowl with water. It was a curious thing, to watch the being test the water with an unfurred paw and swipe at grim to reveal… well if not wholeness, a curious hide of pinkly flesh that looked a bit better for the wetting.

And this meeting, with this creature that’d been declared clutter of a living sort, shunted away and thus spirited away by the laws of pockets to a inconvenient empty place _, his_ , had quite by accident _become his_ in turn.

Finders keepers and opportunity and all that.

He just hopped Tim and Tommy wouldn’t mind sharing all that much.


	2. Sable and Nook

He hadn’t had to bother with tapping, doors, or keys. Mable’d been waiting for him, whiskers all a quiver, quills spread and filling the door frame as new stress met old instincts in a familiar recipe that ended in her getting stuck on the frame. Had he been in a better, more whimsical, mood he’d of offered her a quill guard. Soft colored plastic whose floral patterns were in her favorite color, the weighted cover would apply pressure gently, curtail instinct, and remind her of higher thinking and thus still the subconscious defensive posture.

As it was time was precious, more so than money it seemed, and he counted seconds to steps and moments to probability and didn’t like the odds one bit.

Still he’d not spook her, least she _really_ get stuck and then it’d be a righter mess than it was now.

“Tom is everything-?”

He cut her off, with a furtive glance over her shoulder and a raised paw. “Are the boys in bed?”

She’d given them her bed, rather than the couch, she’d insisted and their panic was such he hadn’t protested it. Now he was double glad he’d taken advantage of her generosity, another head tip and she followed him out, closing the door behind her. He tabbed on percentiles to gratuity, though normally such would pain him a little, they went a few steps. Her walkway’s cheery red a muddy brown in the dark and due to rain not fully dried despite it being a day, the flowers hadn’t unfolded though Spring was surly coming there was a warning nip in the air and had it been any sharper he’d of worried about ice under his paws after a rain. Still it wasn’t. And though a loss this situation was an unavoidable one old instincts died hard. He fretted even as he held open the gate, and she followed him down the street a little ways to a nearby lamp post. Ideal for being seen, and seeing others once the eyes had adjusted. He blinked a few times while he waited for the ocular to settle and she set a paw on his fore arm, squeezing slightly reaching sillyly far. Her quills were, to put it kindly, poofed to near dangerous width, and she was being mindful as always.

The familiar pain wasn’t as sharp as it could be, the familiar anxiety of losing something wasn’t as pointed. He cued up the important in his head, took inventory as it were.

_She was a friend._

_The boys were involved._

_There was another boy, not his, but he was involved too and in things that were bad and which had left him in a bad way_.

Amazing how he’d considered the “sentimental” as irrelevancies a mere year ago yet here it was, here and now, more valuable than any bundle of hypothetical bells.

“Nookie?”

Another squeeze, he cracked open eyes that he’s squeezed shut, so much for adjusting, and tipped his head, canting a bitter smile her way.

“It’s a right mess.” He warned. “And it’s not done. Not by a long shot.”

“With you, I’m used to messes and the messy, that shop of yours…” She huffed, it’d been a contention point and now it was a conversational piece long worn down with familiarity. It hadn’t escaped his notice that when he packed up and “moved shop” she was a few days to weeks behind him, usually with stammered or soft spoken protestations that he wasn’t taking “the clothes markets from her without a fight”.

Most would have considered it the loving glow of a corporate rivalry, or perhaps the motions of a love struck fool chasing after him as he chased after opportunity and bells on the coat tail of aspiring mayors and the like. Him chasing one thing, her chasing him, it was the stuff of romance and comedy and the odd comingling of both ideas were commonly bantered about by those unfamiliar with them as people.

In truth he’d seen opportunity and she a mobile type of stability. Happy in seeing the world in bits and bobs while he saw and accrued bells and though she hadn’t prospered to obscene levels, owning warehouse after warehouse of “everything”, or bought and decorated lavish mansions, she hadn’t wanted such.

So she hadn’t.

She’d set her goal on tamer things. She’d afforded her younger baby sister a gentle kind of adventure while she brought her up in a craft, she’d exposed Mabel to things so if she wanted to learn a different craft or trade she might or might gain the resources to do so later if whim struck, and her foresight was such she nipped any potential familial wanderlust that had taken Label from their lives when the woman had left hearth and home for adventures and making her own brand on the market when wandering were done.

“Mable’s watching the house and the boys but I don’t want to leave her alone too long.”

She never did, with more than enough reason to be fair.

Taking a deep breath, Nook nodded, and then met her familiar blue eyes, smile gone then. “Yes, I understand… it’s just so strange and wrong?”

“The boys were talking about a monster?” Sable prodded.

“They didn’t see it, _them_ , the creature… Perhaps it’s a monster’s leavings, something victimized by one, but not one per say… But this person…. Creature. They are not like anything here. Furless, fangless, tailless… Glossy hided yet it’s marked with injuries and darkening that looks… wrong.” Huffing a sigh, Nook took a few steps, waving his paws as he talked, trying to grasp the intangible tangibly, it wasn’t an easy venture. Little wonder he failed. “I don’t know what i- they are, but they’re clad in things less than rags with tape holding it together. It reeks, like sick and hurt and hunger and not having a bath… It’s caved in stomach wise Sable, pinched in the center and you can see it because the rags it was wrapped in are so slick and dirty they cling and I can see that and… And…”

And he’s getting louder, not yelling, but his voice is hard, sharp, like one used on a fool who’d thought two was five and tried and tried to push him to believing it too. How they’d pushed him with words then pushed him with meaty paws and then had the audacity to push aside his boys who’d only seen pushing and wrong and had shoved between him and the customer, little forms bristling, babbling in high voices about meanie and stop…

Nook normally didn’t throw a customer out, but he’d set the boys to their room and taken utmost pleasure in removing that orange hulking idiot from his affairs.

Old anger mixed with new, the rank of an old grudge that he shouldn’t have, but did, was enough to raise rankness to a level he can taste it in his own thoughts. That turned his stomach and stopped him… well if not cold he could be still. He’d been wandering and waving a bit more than he intended. “I left them food and water and a promise to be back and soon, but it’s got a fey feral look to the eye and I don’t trust them to be still.” A sigh, shaky, he’s shaking, and Sable’s arm about his shoulder isn’t soft but it’s familiar. He leans into it even as she pricks his vest a little bit and ruffles his fur wrong ways when she pulls him close and holds him tight.

“Alright, what do you need me to do?”

“Make sure this isn’t a nightmare for me and me and the boy’s aren’t really sleeping?” Nook whimpered, tail flopping at his back legs at requests edge.

And, because she’s known him for ages, since they were toddling and he hadn’t known what bells were and she was rolling about in fabric and puncturing it with her quills and running about with the ribbons while wearing nothing herself… Well it was an old relationship and she was allowed certain things.

Her punch to his arm made him both grunt and hum, which she of course pointed out was proof he was undeniably weird..

Still, at comments end, she offered the assurance he’d always known she would.

“Still think you’re dreaming?”

“No,” Her second punch, perhaps for stealing once of her regulars with that bot of sparkly green fabric a was doled out, and unfair besides. He’d already said sorry, bought her coffee and rerouted the regular he wasn’t ware he’d poached with assurances that he didn’t have more of the fabric when they’d come back for more. And he’d sold said fabric and a few others at the merchant’s fair (which she bought) and they’d been even.

So punching him a second time was more than uncalled for.

“Alright, I’m going to go back and get my first aid kit and then we’ll go back together, alright?”

“Hurry?” He asked, not even rising protest for her getting hers. He had one, but considering the strange creature Harry and how big they were, two kits seemed smarter than one.

She flashed him a smile and mercifully ran there and back, then they were both running down familiar roads to his home, not bothering with words the whole way back.

Words would come later, and reactions, but for then and now it was going forward as fast as they could as quiet as they could.


	3. A tame monster

Mable’d came into the room, his back to them looked horridly wrong. All the bumps long ways about, running from neck on down, and the curled dents about his midsection. Bones, Sable had called them. Though school was a faraway thing she’d spent more time forgetting and toning out than paying attention to she remembered one particular lesson. About insides, and things that were supposed to stay inside. Things like bones weren’t on the list of _outside things_ , and they weren’t supposed to poke about the edges looking one deep breath away from changing from inside to out.

Still, she’d been told not to stare, Mr. Nook and Sis had been insistent when she’d worn them down on helping. She’d begged and whined and though not a puppy channeled something of the eyes.

And they’d folded with a few rules, one of which was most important and serious and that was _no staring._

So she _watched_ as the gangly thing, pinked from a shower and good scrubbing, combed it’s, short frizzy in spots too long in others, coat. It went from crown to near neck, and stuck every which way despite the combing and it combed and combed while she watched and scratched at an ear with the comb and Mable _was watching, not staring_.

Mr. Nook had given the thing a pair of his pants. Something slimy and black and glossy had been buried in the back, and the thing Sis had brought home from Mr. Nook’s had been mildly attached from the slimy whatever they were. It’d huffed and whined until Mr. Nook had given it a pair of his pants because a purloined towel while Sable worked together something else that would have been awesome hadn’t been enough. So they’d tried the pants, then there’d been another struggle because they hadn’t fit right and Sable had had to take Mr. Nooks leggings away and adlib a bit of length to them. A span of stretchy fabric longwise, never mind the fact Mr. Nook was a bit shorter than the creature he was stout enough they’d fit waist wise.

And that’d been the first horrid hint of something wrong. There were other hints. Like the twins having to face fears and showing the creature from Mr. Nook’s that the water wasn’t “too hot or too cold” or how a stammering Sable had to near choke herself on her shyness to explain how such a simple thing like _soap_ worked..

And Mable hadn’t meant to listen, but she’d heard enough to be curious and her bedroom was right next to the bathroom, so a certain amount of eavesdropping had been unavoidable.

She’d thought the things silly, the seriousness of them hadn’t sunk in, hence the begging after to help. And Sis and Mr. Nook had looked to her long and hard and finally said yes and made rules that made little sense and seeing then she’d come through the door.

The thing was without a shirt and looked silly without fur or feathers or pelt.

The bones near out when they should be in did not.

Scratching at the door frame made the thing hop, then turn and it looked at her, glasses askew and more broke than whole set his eyes into fractions for one and made the other seem horridly large and the dark smudges about it horridly deep. It stared at her, breathing hard, almost sobbing, then one moment, two, and she looked about, at room and things about it instead of staring as she’d been told not to do and hadn’t been doing so anyway. Finally when one moment become what felt to her as too many she shook the tray in her paws. Apple slivers and bread rattled.

And irrelevance became her, because her thoughts were utterly so. Mr. Nook had such a nice store, why was the bread so stale _it rattled_ when her hands shook?

“Can I come in?”

She sounded like Mable on a bad day. All squeaks and stutters. Just tuck her behind a sewing machine because here they were, with her sounding just like Sis.

It stared a little more, then perhaps remembering manners it nodded, silly frizz and horrid hollowness and all. It was a short bobbing motion that did little to hide how the fright had set it to shaking, and wasn’t that silly, it being frightened of her?

“Y… you’re a porcupine I think?”

“I’m a person, thank you very much, and my quills while pretty long aren’t ‘pine quills.” Curiosity and fear, she ignored the second and hoped pretending hard enough would make it real. “It’s just a lot of gel and a long tufted stick in the morning to get them to stick like this.”

“Oh.”

Her paws clicked across her own carpet, claws long enough to click through to the wood underneath though familiarity kept her from tearing or slashing with her toes. She’d had training rugs for years and for her last birthday Sis had said she was good enough not to have to fuss with shoes and she was old enough to trim her own claws and so the mess of multi colored clashing rugs had come up with the promise that she could pick a different color, for floor and room walls if the Spring sales went really well. After Egg day at latest.

Across from her bed was a pretty chart with stickers and a line indicating “almost there” she was only a few hundred bells away and in preparation she’d piled a few books with wood chips all painted the prettiest colors and had gathered a few pages with dimensions and paint per foot prices. She’d gone to all the places and set star stickers to the a few that’d looked promising.

Last time he’d been by for dinner Mable had proudly shown of her efforts to Mr. Nook. He’d hummed and hawed over her research then had set a leaf sticker besides his price, a spot of green among the metallic golds and silvers, smiling his amusement that she’d look elsewhere besides his shop. And weren’t they friends.

Well friends, she’d countered, gave friends bargains.

Sable’d nearly sunk into the floor boards but Mr. Nook had laughed his chittering laugh and offered her a price cut (he’d been third most expensive but with a thing called a protection plan sheen protection) that’d set his prices near even with the cheapest and the twins had nattered and…

And someone’d moved her papers, perhaps flipped through them. The water spots in the corner of the top most made it no mystery as to who.

“Budge over.”

And wonders of wonders it… the creature… did. Figures the twins would find a _tame_ monster, they were weirdos like that.

“Eat,” and because offering it food to eat had caused it to panic, to look for things that needed doing, well Mable gave it one, a small thing but it was a thing and thus defanged the fuss from before. “And pass me my colors book why don’t you?”

So the creature had, and she’d opened it, ignoring the wetness and enjoyed the sound of wood chips clicked as she turned pages, past the pinks and to the oranges. Oranges like the inside for fruit and the edges of flowers and sunset when the clouds met light just right.

“So I was thinking… like I like orange, you know, but what _type_ of orange, there’s so much you know? And that walls just a boring old beige so it’s a good start, you know?”

She waved a paw, to said wall and it’s blandness, and he smiled, smally, as if despite himself, nipping at bread because otherwise she’d keep poking him with it, the hint was taken and an apple slice as well, while she chattered about colors and patterns and maybe putting stripes in.

“Not dots?” It’d.. He’d… both boy and Harry F- something, the last name skittered by unimportant, but the silliness of having a furless thing named Hairy stuck.

“Too many types, and Nookie makes you pay per dot based off of _circumference_ and that’s _hard_ math.”

Clearly not the studious type, the hooman Hairy, tipped his head, weighing bafflement along with another apple slice, she’d set the lot between them and taken a few nibbles herself so both were armed with little red crescent to better point and play with as they passed the book back and forth. One wall pink the other orange had been tossed out as an idea, but painting the frame bright bright pink had not. Mainly because it’d be eye catching and draw one to looking outside, a must when sent to a bedroom with homework in tow, and also because if she didn’t like it she could cover it with stickers to her heart’s content and Sis wouldn’t say a word save to express relief.

Scratching at the door made both look up, Hairy might have hopped if she hadn’t set a paw over his and both over the book besides. Caught between the urge to run and the urge not to knock things over and make a mess he was trapped. 

Mr. Nook, flicking an eye over their paws and the book, tutted. “Little things should be in bed, it’s late.”

“He’s taller than me?” Mable argued, tucking empty plate to her side, because why not argue and having to clean off crumbs would give her a little more time.

More than familiar with the “I don’t want to go to bed even though I’m yawning” run down Nook flicked a round ear, his tail twitched, and he began the tried and true patented adult thing that made most kids on ‘Crossing fold and fold quick.

He offered a reasonable, polite, and wordy explanation about sleep schedules and little things needing sleep and did so in a slow unhurried pace that made Blathers seem a quiet monosyllabic bird and nearly drove the lecture’s receiver to sleep. When Hairy yawned, then covered his mouth with a quiet “’scuse me?” Mable folded. Only because Tom Nook was on a run and would keep going, had to keep going because he had two littler things than her to Blathers to sleep and did so nearly nightly and it was two against one of a sort and she hadn’t yawned. Only once, maybe, and that was stretching her jaws, thank you very much.

“I’m gunna go brush my teeth!” Mable yelped, hopping off bed and near bolting, taking the plate with her because… well because she forgot to put it down she supposed. She felt silly when she’d closed the door behind her and found it in paw. Still, she was in and it was too, might as well make the most of it she supposed.

“I’ve got a few soft things on the living room set up around the couch.” Mr. Nook’s voice carried over water, and yes brushing, but only if she leaned against the door ear pressed hard against the seam. “If you’ll follow me down and be willing to oh and aw over what the boy’s think will be comfortable,” Tom yawned, muttered a bit, then hummed before beginning again. “Well the sooner we do so the sooner we can set it up to your comfort.”

“But I’m a-“

“ _Guest_.” Tom cut in, firm, not yelling or loud, but immovable in his quiet way. “You are a _guest_ , and in my house, and Ms. Sable’s house, guests are to be comfortable. So the sooner we do so the sooner we can all get to bed, hm?”

Silence, where she stopped brushing and felt she was drowning in mint and stretching her ears for all they were worth… and nothing. No complaint, or whining, or anything, then a squeak from the bed as he got up.

“Oh and aw?” Hairy, the hooman, mumbled, a few steps away and going towards her door by the softness and distance.

“Not literally, just act… impressed a little bit.” A chuckle and another yawn. “And try not to go blind perhaps? They “borrowed” their Auntie Sabe’s shiny metallic fabric to “give it some color” and the lots an eyesore. I only barely stopped them from putting stickers everywhere, Mable’s been a bit of a bad influence there.

The door clicked closed, and claws and curiously unclawed feet padded down and were well out of her hearing after a few moments.

Deciding she’d heard enough, and not wanting to drown in mint, Mable went to the sink to spit and finish getting ready for bed before Mr. Nook came back up to bore her the rest of the way to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

There was evil and though there appearances may allude to simplicity, from frame to the world they formed about themselves, the creatures of ‘Crossing were not idiots. They understood evil could exist, be inflicted, and had structured their world to avoid evil as much as possible. When tragedy struck the most able took the help to minimize the damages, hence why Nook had taken the twins in once they were abandoned by the amoral people that had brought them into the world, why when Label had abandoned her younger sisters after the accident had taken their parent the whole town had taken on Mable and Sable, supporting and encouraging until Sable had made her own business and thrived and was content to raise her sister on her own.

Evil did not pass them by, it was part of their lives in the form of loss, and neglect, and other less than savory things, but they’d known of it bone deep and built systems and checks threaded through the whole of their lives and societies to brace against such losses.

Hence simplicity, it was easy to hide clauses and causes in the material fine print. It was also why, baring very specific circumstances, contracts could only be so long.

Nook’d wrangled and argued a fine many perfectly fair contracts in his time that were nixed for being “too long” hence why he’d never gone into the lawyer business. The tug and pull of doing a through job in a field where you were limited by every turn would have driven him bonkers. As it was, Tom knew a few lawyers per his chosen field and that wrangling, had just hung up with a tawny one that was half-brother to Blathers, and was satisfied with the papers about this… unpleasantness… would be in paw soon enough. He’d already called to reschedule him and the boy’s trip out of town, and rung up one of his warehouses to send down some supplements to Sable’s business, part as thanks and part as having those materials would give him and the boys, and this strange human boy, something to do that would keep them stable and still while the gangly creature healed up physically from… whatever had happened to him.

Then he’d begun the usual calls, and didn’t it say _everythin_ g that this was usual now. He’d set up a run of checkups, appointments, that he’d put the boys through when he’d filed for custody. As for that final step, well he’d put in for the papers but they were “long” papers and thus would take a bit of time to get smoothed through, still it was a progress he’d start and only complete if the wayward child decided that was what he wanted.

Sliding his Nook phone into his pocket, business done, Tom Nook padded back up the bright red walk way, a quick rap on the frame as warning and he nudged his way in, casting Sable, who was busy at the stove, a tight smile.

“Everything set?”

He nodded, she was marginally familiar with the mechanics as he’d gone to her a few times for help when getting the twins settled, and it was good to have another adult in this mess anyways.

“I’ll call the lot down then. You take the stove.”

He’d more likely stare blankly at the stove while the stuff atop it cooked, hopefully not burning. The speed to her leaving told him Sable knew that. Still he made the motions, taking stirring spoon, poking at things and flipping them and keeping a wary eye for blackness and the scent of char. Eggs in one pan, vegies sizzling in olive oil in the other, a plate of cooled vegetables away from the lot on counter top, some sort of vegi burrito for the girls, as for them… well there were a pile of cooked bugs in a sweet and sour sauce… an oddity his boys favored… and as an aside, was cold toast and butter and a thick oatmeal near golden form the honey and sugars put in it.

Clearly Sable’s idea of food for invalids consisted of stereotype, favorites of those she knew, and far too much of everything.

Luckily for them all Sable was fast on her feet, her guests were quick to waken, and she’d made a multitude of the “simple fare” because Nook’s phone rang and he picked up, a reschedule request never mind the set date was set mere minutes ago. He’d fielded that, then got a call from the delivery team on some fabrics, turned his back on the sizzling with a cursory glance to make sure blackening wasn’t starting, and forgot about the spoon in paw as he gestured and talked a bit, him nearly smacking himself in the face recalled him to spoon, and the spoon recalled him to stove… And a glance down, to now merrily charring and blackening vegetables… and as Tommy and Timmy would say, “the usual happened”, was happening. He ended his call, and then killed the stove, tossing the smoldering wreckage into the sink with some water to help it along. 

Which again showed another reason as to why he never cooked. The oil and water didn’t get along, or rather got along too well, and then Sable was there. She shoved him aside, pan lid in hand and glower over her shoulder warned his welcome was running low and he twisted his snout to a small smile to defang what was likely to be a firm lecture that he didn’t want.

“I can order…”

“Order?” Sable questioned quietly, a particular tone that once ago had ended him taking a dare involving dyes and his fur and being stuck a vibrant tie dye of pink and navy blue before picture day. But then he had accidentally, mind, disclosed the contents of her diary over the schools PA system so it’d been somewhat justified. Her tone inspired a shiver and fluffing of his tail despite the years between that incident and now.

“I can go get?”

Behind them, looking from ruination from the living room, rubberneckers the lot of them, the boys were cuddling each other and closest, the lanky creature garbed in bits of Sable’s rushed attempts towards dignity lingered between where he could see and easily get out, and Mable also took a place downwind. The slant of her snout and the little twitches along it indicated that _dignity_ might have been a push for Harry’s attire. But then the dark grey of his jeans clashed horridly with the extending length to keep them from being too short. Grey and white with pink poka dots really didn’t go together all that well.

“Get.” She suggested, sweetness alluding to a sharp kick encouraging _him_ to get, and not just for the replacement food.

Letting his gaze linger a bit, considering measurements and inches, satisfied Nook nodded letting his eyes skirt over the shorter of the gathered. They boy was squinting horridly, which was why the glasses trip was tomorrow morning. He’d of had the doctor’s visit first but they were closed till first day of the week and that’s how it went, so semi-frivolities first.

“Any requests?”

That summoned babble, ice cream from Timmy, sours from Tommy, Mable wanted those “really fluffy pancakes from fifth street” and Sable’s glare wanted him gone a bit so she could roughly scrape the dishes to vent. But, curiously the long limbed human seemed baffled and remained silent, offering only silence.

“I’ll be back soon.” Tom wasn’t sure how it was taken, as a promise, assurance, or threat, but the lanky creature, the human winced, even as those about him chittered and chirruped their farewells. Then Tom was getting towards gone, body just following along route paths to Fifth Street while his mind went down many avenues, none of them pleasant, as he cycled through form and frame and actions and their allusions and decidedly decided that he did not like the image they were painting.

He did nip into Pancake Palace, but first he went to an “ape apparel aperium store”, the lumbering clout behind the counter smirked, hooted no less, when he recognized his customer of one. And to that fact Tom bared his small fangs and let the ape think it friendly. Though he was going to be the target of jeers for coming here he at least had the assurance _his_ shop was so popular he still got clients though he’d been closed a near half month, they still tapped at his windows wanting his service and goods and while an annoyance it was a comfort as well.

“I’d like the mayoral specialty package please, smallest size you’ve got.”

His request triggered a huff and glower, but a stare off, him “smiling” tail twitching ever so, got the simian on its way. Tom left with premade pants, shirts, and other odd things the mayor who was human and thus who was sort of an ape normally wore. After all it was the mayor and only the mayor’s regular purchases that the “aperium” remained open, both knew that, and Tom presence would have gotten tongues to wag.

If the mayor was in town, which he wasn’t. He was off haring about some other little town, building it up only to leave it to crash amongst his ears when he abandoned it to whim. He’d left ‘Crossing long behind him and it was part of why Tom had moved back. At least temporarily.

“Why, the mayor shrink or something?” Huffed the shop keep, taking bells and passing cloths, the later sullenly, the former with a quickness the boy’s showed towards a jar of their favored candies.

Still “smiling” Tom flicked his tail, said nothing, and the parcel was dropped into his paws after a long long silence when it became obvious to the stupid that he wasn’t going to say anything.

Save a wry, half threatening, “I’ll remember to toss up a review on my Nookphone, when I got a moment, good day.”

Then he was off, encumbered and off to get pancakes, juggling emergency cloths a bit saner than the monstrosities Sable tossed together and trying to remember what syrups the boys liked (it changed weekly, especially when he’d banned caramel syrup in the morning servings) and if Mable was off of her maple kick or if fruit was again a taboo in the Able household.

He made one more stop before going back, to the florists, to get something garish and musty smelling as an apology to Sable who rejected sweet things, hence why he had a package of grapefruit as an aside to her portion of the mornings treats. Encumbered enough, for now, Tom made his way to Sable’s home, mind full of apologies and on juggling treats and the sours in paw it was enough he didn’t have to think.

Which was a blessing and relief of a sorts and he’d take all of whichever he could get just then.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot from another pair of eyes.

Breakfast was mandatory, lite, but a necessity. Sable had set the table, set Mable to shoe the “Nooklings” the little Raccoon creatures out, and got to cleaning the ruin that Nook had made of the kitchen. They’d hared off, shouting something about for ‘toons, and a TV clicking on in a distant room seemed affirmation of sorts.

“You can join them if you want.”

Mildly suspicious, he knew he wasn’t allowed to join in anything, the assurance of breakfast being fetched and no punishment for a ruined breakfast beyond the fetching had both set his back up and his nerves to jangle.

He’d gotten a frying pan to the head for his last blotched meal, and a trip to the cupboard that’d ended in a tumble when the wall hadn’t been quite right. His freakishness had pushed and the wall’d given and Harry’d found himself in a basement of boxes covered in white sheets.

That hadn’t been… odd. His unnaturalness and a perchance for being locked up by his relatives had made his mind ripe for wandering. He’d imagined stranger things, castles and flying things that shouldn’t of flown, so a room of boxes hadn’t seen too odd…. Though his “fancy” had never felt so real, the dust had even clung to him right when he’d gotten up to better look around.

The click of claws on wood, the humanish raccoon with a flashlight in its paw descending the stairs had been the first weird thing, the first thing that had told him that this was different. Having been awoken be sticker wielding scampering raccoon kids had been the another, and perhaps something of an assurance that’d made all the adult animals assurances of “it’s over” and “you’re safe now” seem a bit more real.

He was here, not there, and the strangeness of it settled about him like a numbing cloak.

Still this slice of familiarity, the end week ‘toons, which sounded loud were definitely not something he wanted, still it was familiar and pricked at his numb head a bit, nearly making him smile.

Wordlessly he took a chair, because him approaching, intent on helping had been met with a bristled “you need to rest” that he found more amusing than not. Aunt Petunia would disagree strenuously, but the novelty of being able to rest was such he indulged, nerve jangle non-withstanding was such he indulged. So he sat, and watched as the blue spiny rodent fussed a bit about cupboards. Perhaps sensing his curiosity she pushed the lot open to it’s widest with a little nudging, showing a dizzying multitude of options that “She made herself”. Each piled, tagged, and below them set to the wood shelf itself were glossy white labels baring black writing. Simple things, like “breakfast” or “fancy” or “Nookie hates these”. And it was to the transplanted boy’s amusement that a pumpkin orange and yellow stripped thing from the “Hates” pile was taken. Mable’d huffed into her dishes viciously enough that Harry suspected whatever had happened to irritate the small mouse-creature woman was perhaps something of a norm, the pile and it’s label affirmed that and confirmed something of a history that seemed utterly adult and thus alien.

Closing one cabinet she opened another, this with smaller squares, napkins his scrutiny confirmed. The labels were much the same, save four new sections one red, one green, one blue and one yellow, she bypassed them to go to a back corner, to a Hates one. It seemed a pile of color conflicting scraps stitched together near perfectly with the thickest thread and the roughest fabric, she showed off one, a melon pink thing with orange spots and grey speckles, posing even, and Harry snickered, shook his head after she’d watched him, clearly she wanted some affirmation.

He didn’t have to say yes all the time, he didn’t have to work all the time, they’d said these things, and screwing up what courage he had he tried it. He shook his head, and his refusal didn’t trigger a tirade about ungratefulness and the like. Rather a huff and rummage; the resulting silver ringed and pink monstrosity that looked kin to tin foil was brandished with some flair.

Unable to help himself Harry laughed, imagining the solid somber colored creature in green vest and brown fur trying not to go color blind with the metallic sliver of eye searing amongst a glaring base that was somewhat akin to a traffic cone and head trauma coming together to try to interior decorate . Flashing fangs in a smirk, she whisked the offering under her arm, and picked up table cloth, tossing that in place and allowing him the labor of helping her adjust it. She set the pink and metallic monstrosity at the far end of the table besides a pair of smaller chairs before drifting off to another dig through the “For company” pile and pulling out a few solid green squares that were tolerable compared to the thing set up for “Nookie”.

Licking his lips, leaning back into the chair never mind his back hurt, old sun burn and bruises from when Dudley’s favorite sport had thrown him on his back on summer warmed asphalt besides, Harry figured he’d try that not needing to do things or else thing for a bit. He clocked a good few minutes in, until the door was scratched at. Curious, near human in every way that they scratched at doors instead of knocking. Old impulse got him to stand, mind running through layout and wondering where his cupboard here was, if company was here then he clearly needed to be gone. She’d used the company napkins, so it was company and…

And she nudged him in passing, a murmured a ”sit silly” and he sat, because she said so, utterly bewildered when she slid one of the nice napkins in a place before him before patting his knee and going off to open the door to let the Raccoon-man, Nook, in.


End file.
